June Francis

by Convenient Wife Rebel Lady

  ‘And what did you reply?’ asked Anna, her eyes bright with curiosity.

  ‘That you were the kind of woman to remain true to one man,’ said Jack smoothly. ‘I said that you were a pearl amongst women.’

  She was touched by his words, yet surprised that he had chosen to refer to her as such a rare jewel. ‘And what did he say to that?’

  Jack did not answer but, from his darkling expression, it was obvious to her that their host’s comments had not pleased him. She changed the subject. ‘Did you ask him about hiring horses?’

  ‘Aye, but he refused in a charming way and said he could not risk their not being returned. He has offered to sell me one, but I’m not happy about his price so will need to bargain with him.’

  At that moment their host spoke and Jack excused himself and turned to speak to him. Anna gave her attention to her food. Her thoughts drifted. She tried to imagine how her life would have been if Jack’s words were based on truth. But she found it difficult. One couldn’t go back and change life. Besides she would not have had Joshua if she had been betrothed to Jack and remained true to him. Her heart might have almost broke when she had lost her son, but she would always be grateful for those four short years he had been given to her.

  But what of Jack? How different would his life have been? Perhaps he would have spent more time in England and might never have been abducted. She had spent enough time in his company to sense he was still deeply disturbed by his years as a slave. If only he was able to talk more about it. There was an air of mystery about him. He was not a man at peace with himself. She thought about how much of herself she had revealed to him. If she had not done so, then no doubt he wouldn’t be helping her now.

  Anna was aware that Jack was drinking his wine sparingly and she followed suit. Every few minutes he would slant her a smile and translate the men’s conversation, which seemed to be mainly about the confrontation between the kings of England and France and how trade was suffering.

  A dessert of crepes stuffed with sliced pears in a brandy liquor was served and, although that was sublime, Anna was beginning to wish the meal over. She was feeling sleepy and was also concerned about the saddlebags, which contained the two precious parchments. Her eyes kept straying to their baggage. It was a relief when the woman in russet reappeared and suggested that Anna might wish to retire and leave the men to their brandy liquor.

  ‘I will see you to the bedchamber,’ said Jack instantly, pushing back his chair. ‘I will make the excuse of needing to visit the garde-robe,’ he added in a low voice.

  Anna thanked their host for such a delicious meal. He took her hand and placed a spanking kiss on the back of it and wished her a restful night. Whilst this exchange was taking place, Jack had fetched their saddlebags and hoisted them over his shoulder. He spoke to their host and then put an arm about Anna and they followed the woman out of the room.

  Anna was glad of that helping arm. The woman led the way upstairs, carrying a lantern. She stopped outside a door on the first floor and opened it with a key. After pushing the door open, she was about to walk away when Jack stopped her. He asked for the key. She hesitated, but he insisted she give it to him. With obvious reluctance she did so. He enquired to the whereabouts of the garde-robe. She pointed along the passage. He thanked her and she hurried away.

  Anna went into the bedchamber and she looked at Jack in dismay. A lantern on a small table threw out light, revealing a room that was simply furnished with a small armoire, a chest, a chair and a bed. Jack placed their baggage on the chair and gazed about him. ‘It’s not palatial, is it?’

  ‘The chair doesn’t look comfortable and there isn’t much room on the floor,’ murmured Anna.

  Jack thought with a grim smile that told him exactly where she expected him to sleep. But when he had suggested their pretending to be man and wife, he had known if she agreed that there would be no soft bed for him that night. He did not have to remind himself that their words of endearment were but a pretence. ‘I’ll go with you to the garde-robe and then escort you back here,’ he suggested.

  ‘You really think there is a need for us to be so careful?’ she asked.

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘You’d rather go along that dark passage on your own?’

  She smiled. ‘No.’

  When they returned to the bedchamber, Jack insisted she lock the door behind him. ‘You open it to no one but me,’ he said firmly.

  Anna slanted him a glance that told him she was no fool. And as soon as he had gone she turned the key in the lock. Then she went over to the bed and inspected it closely. It appeared to be a slat bed with a plain headboard and footboard with rectangular posts. She slid her hand down the inside of the box part and was relieved to find a palliasse made of straw, on top of which was a feather mattress. She turned back the covers and was pleased to discover that the linen sheets were spotlessly clean and bore the scent of dried flowers. In the absence of a comfortable chair or a truckle bed, it made sense to remove one of the mattresses and place it on the floor.

  Despite her weariness, she set about trying to do so. But no amount of tugging on her part could lift the mattress high enough for her to get it over the side. This meant she would have to wait for Jack to return and help her remove it. In the meantime she decided to remove her boots and hose and unpin her braids. It came as a surprise to hear a knock at the door so soon after he had left.

  ‘Is that you, Jack?’ Suddenly her tiredness seemed to evaporate.

  ‘Aye, let me in, Anna.’ The words were slurred, but she decided the voice definitely belonged to Jack, so she opened the door.

  He would have fallen into the room and crashed to the floor if she had not moved swiftly and managed to get her shoulder beneath his armpit.

  ‘What has happened to you?’ she gasped. Surely he could not have got drunk so swiftly?

  ‘Not sure what happened,’ he replied with slow deliberation, managing to straighten up. But when he stepped away from Anna, he went staggering backwards and fell on to the bed.

  She hurried over to him, but then stopped and glanced back at the open door. Already suspicious to why he should be in such a state, she went and locked the door, before returning to him. ‘How much brandy did you drink?’

  He did not answer, but managed to get a grip on one of the posts and drag himself upright. He gazed at her from blurry eyes. ‘Must get up an’—an’ let you haf the bed,’ he muttered.

  ‘Never mind that now, Jack! Do you think Monsieur Lampaul managed to slip a sleeping potion into your drink?’

  He shook his head, then nodded. His hands slipped from the post and he fell back on to the bed.

  Alarmed, she cried, ‘Oh, Jack! What am I to do with you?’ She bent over and shook him but there was no response.

  Anna straightened up. It was then she heard footsteps. She hesitated only a moment before tiptoeing over to the door and pressing her ear against the wood. The footsteps stopped. She was convinced that there was someone on the other side, who was listening exactly as she did. The question was, who was it? The woman or their host? The handle turned slowly, but when the door did not open, she heard a muffled curse.

  Anna decided to let whoever it was know that she was awake. She moved away from the door and began to sing a French love song. She thought she heard muttering and then the footsteps move away. She was convinced it was their host outside and was glad she had locked the door. She returned to the bed and gazed anxiously at Jack. His breathing was laboured and he appeared uncomfortable. Noticing that he was still wearing his sword, she decided that he would be much more comfortable without it.

  She climbed on to the bed and knelt beside him and managed to undo the fastening and slide the sword from its scabbard. The weapon was much heavier than she had thought and it fell from her hand and on to the floor. It made a loud clanging noise and she half-expected Jack to wake. He certainly reacted—sitting up and shouting out in his sleep. She could not understand what he was saying. The words
were in no language that she had heard before. She wondered whether they were Arabic. By the light of the lantern she could see that his eyes were open, but he seemed oblivious to her presence.

  ‘Jack!’ she said loudly, waving her hand slowly in front of his face. There was no response. ‘Can you hear me, Jack?’

  ‘Thirsty! Water! I want water.’

  ‘I don’t have any water,’ said Anna.

  ‘I must have water. Give it to me, you sadistic swine!’ he snarled, reaching out and grabbing her wrist.

  Anna cried out, guessing he was in the grip of a nightmare. ‘Jack, wake up!’

  ‘Who is that who speaks my name?’ His eyelids flickered. ‘Is it you? Or am I dreaming?’ He drew Anna close and his arms went round her. ‘I thought I would never see you again,’ he whispered sleepily, planting little kisses down the side of her face. ‘Where have you been?’

  Despite her sense of shock, Anna’s whole body tingled. Who did he think she was? Now his mouth was searching for hers. Their lips met. His breath smelt sweetly of liquor brandy that mingled with another odour that was familiar to her. Some form of poppy juice. Was she right in having suspected that he might have been drugged earlier? She swallowed his sudden sigh. Was that one of relief because he believed her to be the woman he wanted? Then he was kissing her with a hunger that spoke of a deep need.

  It was so long since she had been kissed that her response was immediate and just as needy as his obviously was. She would not have struggled to free herself even if she could have done so. He was moving against her, so that the hard wall of his chest brushed her breasts, causing their tips to bud and swell as if about to burst into flower. Then he was unfastening her gown and drawing it off her shoulders and after that her kirtle. She really should stop him, thought Anna in a daze, as he caressed her breasts. His mouth skated over the curve of her jaw and his tongue licked the sensitive skin behind her ear. She shivered with pleasure and heard him murmur in his throat. Then, utterly unexpectedly, he began to sing a song. She wanted him to continue kissing and caressing her and could scarcely believe her ears. The words were in French, but she recognised the song as the one she had sung earlier.

  ‘Jack, why are you singing?’ Her voice was husky with emotion and her fingers caressed his scarred cheek.

  His voice trailed off and he seized her hand. ‘Who’s that?’ He sounded befuddled. ‘What are you doing to me?’

  Suddenly the candle in the lantern spluttered and went out.

  ‘It’s me. Are you all right, Jack? I think perhaps Monsieur Lampaul slipped a sleeping draught into your brandy liquor.’ She knew that she should put some distance between them now and hastened to do so before he realised that he had begun to make love to her and was embarrassed and angry with himself.

  ‘My head feels foggy and aches. I can’t understand why you believe Henri should drug me. Am I ill?’

  She felt a dart of fear. What was happening to him? Had he been given more than an ordinary sleeping draught and it was affecting his mind? Perhaps he might even die! ‘Not Henri, but his brother,’ said Anna, perched on the edge of the bed, tidying her clothing. ‘Jack, do you remember his name? Can you recall us coming here?’

  A further sigh escaped him. ‘You mean Maurice?’

  Relief flooded through her. ‘Aye. I think he tried the door earlier.’

  There was a long silence. Then Jack muttered, ‘It’s Anna, isn’t it? Have I been dreaming?’

  ‘Aye. You were asleep, but you shouted out in a foreign tongue. I wondered if it was Arabic.’

  ‘It could have been. I can’t remember now. I hope I didn’t frighten you?’ His voice came to her out of the dimness and she knew he was in his right mind and thankfully did not remember what had happened.

  ‘Not really.’ She hesitated. ‘I think we’d best get some sleep now, Jack. But I’m surprised you were able to wake up so quickly if you were drugged. Perhaps you did not imbibe too much of the draught.’

  ‘I didn’t drink the brandy to the dregs.’ He paused. ‘I should be on the floor.’

  ‘You fell asleep before I could take one of the mattresses off the bed.’

  ‘There’s no need to go to such lengths for my comfort.’ His voice sounded strained. ‘You say that Maurice Lampaul tried to get in here?’

  ‘He tried the door, but I’d locked it as you told me to.’

  She felt the mattress dip beneath her and saw his shadowy figure getting up from the bed and moving away over to the window. He picked up the chair and took it over to the door. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s possible he might have a spare key and if, as we believe, he slipped a sleeping draught in my brandy liquor, then he might try again to get in here. By placing the back of the chair under the door handle, he’ll find it difficult to do so without making a noise.’

  Jack shoved the chair in place, angry with himself for allowing Maurice to dupe him. What if their host’s plan had worked? He felt a chill of horror at the thought of Anna being raped by the swine. ‘You get into bed and get some sleep while I keep watch.’ His voice was rough, wondering how their host would have explained an assault on Anna the next morning. Or had he planned on getting rid of Jack if he had downed more of the opiate?

  ‘If you’re going to lie on the floor, you should at least have a blanket to keep you warm,’ said Anna, getting off the bed. Immediately she stubbed her toe on the sword and let out a squeal.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Jack, hurrying around the bed.

  ‘I tripped over your sword.’

  ‘My sword?’ His hand went to his scabbard.

  ‘I thought you’d be more comfortable without it,’ she said vaguely, nursing her toe.

  ‘You mean you managed to remove my sword without my even being aware of it?’ he asked, furious with himself and yet touched that she’d had such care for his comfort.

  ‘I—I wouldn’t say that exactly, you did stir when I dropped it. I didn’t realise swords were so heavy. You must be really strong to be able to fight with it,’ she babbled, hoping he would not remember what had happened next.

  ‘Damn Maurice Lampaul to hell!’ said Jack savagely. ‘If I had him here right now, I’d—’ He stopped abruptly. ‘I’ve just remembered I paid him the price he asked for the horse without bargaining or seeing the damned animal. I must have been out of my wits.’

  ‘Forget him, Jack, and help me up,’ said Anna.

  He begged her pardon and lifted her up and sat her on the bed. ‘Which foot is it?’ he asked.

  ‘My left foot. But there’s naught you can do about it.’

  ‘I hope you haven’t broken it.’ He took hold of her foot and explored it with gentle fingers.

  ‘You’re tickling me,’ she said with a giggle in her throat.

  ‘I’m glad you can laugh.’ He smiled himself as he released her foot. ‘You get into bed.’

  Anna was glad he could not read her thoughts, recalling his even more intimate caresses of earlier. ‘I will, as long as you take one of the blankets and a pillow,’ she said.

  ‘I aim to stay alert,’ said Jack, picking up his sword and thinking, Fine protector I am.

  ‘You don’t think you’ll nod off?’

  He did not answer.

  Anna sighed and tossed him a pillow.

  Jack managed to catch it and then removed one of the blankets. He sat on the floor with the pillow behind his back against the bed, so that he faced the door. It was not quite pitch black. He placed his sword at his side and draped the blanket about his shoulders. Some remnants of the drug made his head still feel fuzzy. Fortunately, the shutters had been left open and the unglazed window aperture allowed cool night air into the bedchamber. That should keep him awake, he thought, determined that Anna should not find him wanting as her guardian again.

  Several moments passed and he wondered if she was sleeping yet. If they were to travel on in the morning, she needed her rest. He found himself thinking of some of the place
s he had travelled to and how she would have found them interesting. Yet it would not have been suitable for a lady such as her to sleep in the open or on a floor as he had often done. He wondered if it was one of those times that had figured in his dreams and caused him to shout out in his sleep. Yet normally when he woke from one of his recurring nightmares, he remembered it. Its sheer repetitiveness was stamped in his memory. Generally, he woke in a panic, angry and depressed. He could not remember being gripped by any of those emotions. In truth he had woken with an unusual sense of well-being.

  A memory stirred in his mind. A French love song that he remembered singing in happier times. A favourite of Anna’s, too, for she had sung it on the ship, igniting a torrent of emotion inside him. He wondered if the opiate was responsible for that sense of well-being or whether it was Anna’s obvious concern for him. It seemed an age since he had shared a bedchamber with a woman. He groaned inwardly, wondering what Anna must have made of his allowing himself to be duped by their host. She had lightly brushed it aside, appearing not to hold him responsible. Yet, perhaps in her heart she had thought him some fool protector.

  Monique had always expected him to be strong and in control, so as to take care of her and their son. She had called him her handsome English roguish lover. She would have hated his scarred face but Anna did not seem to mind it. But then she was not in love with him. His appearance was not important to her. Unless she only pretended not to care about his scar? He wondered where he was going with his thoughts. Suddenly he felt uncomfortable, comparing the two women. They could not be more different in appearance and ways. Monique had died for love of him. He must not find aught to criticise in her. Suddenly, he remembered making love to her in his dreams. Yet she had been invisible to him even then. Why did she not come to him so he could see her? ‘Monique,’ he groaned. ‘Where are you?’

  Anna shifted in the bed and was aware of a sudden chill about her heart. Who was this Monique whose name Jack muttered? Was she the woman he had dreamed he was making love to? Such sweet love, such delicacy of touch rousing in her pleasure and longing. Tears sprang to her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. What a fortunate woman this Monique was to be loved by a man like Jack. Sometimes he was rough and ill tempered but that was understandable in the light of what he had suffered but beneath that scarred exterior was a very troubled, sensitive man in need of the care of a loving woman. Now she thought she understood even more why he had refused to talk about his past. Perhaps when he was abducted he had left behind this woman Monique? Maybe his enemy had been his rival in love? Was she the unfinished business that had brought him back to France, risking his life by placing himself in danger from this enemy? He must really love her to do so. No wonder he had been so intent on distancing himself from Anna on the ship. No doubt he would continue to do so because neither could not deny that tug of bodily attraction between them. No doubt it would be a great relief to him to hand her over to Raoul. The thought caused Anna pain and she felt more alone than ever as the tears rolled silently down her cheeks.